marionette
by Whisperedintrees
Summary: AU- They can't see her. But she's here, and she'll lie in wait until he kills them all.
1. Chapter 1

marionette

* * *

A voice, so soft and tender works its way through his mind. It races in one ear, lolling in the drum and whispers. _Open the briefcase_, it says, the words sounding far away, yet he knows she's there; the warmth of her breath prickles hairs along his neck. The streets are crowded that morning, the glare of the sun reflecting off buildings is almost blinding. He tilts his head back a bit, sending the glasses sliding back up the bridge of his nose. _Open, _comes her voice again, because she hates being ignored, especially by those as weak as he. But he shakes his head, something he's only done on rare occasion. 'Can't,' he sighs, placing his free hand on the railing, and waves to the free cab below, 'Not now. They'll see.' It's the first time in quiet a while or at least in as long as he could remember that he's ever denied her request.

A sound, similar to that of a growl escapes her throat, and even before he can dodge, her claws ripples across his skin, pawing from chin to throat. He startles a cry, tries to swallow it back, but can't. People turn and they stare at the lone man with the briefcase. The one who screeches at air where there is nothing. Most turn back away, and try to ignore him, nothing more than another strange character of the city.

_Don't disobey. Open. _And he feels the fingers of his right hand unclench without consent, as if they were running on someone else's control. They're numb and he can't feel them. It's as if his arms ended at the wrists and never before had there been digits. Though odd, and most likely alarming for most, it felt normal for him to feel this way. Maybe because she's overshadowed him before. But he can't remember when or why. He doesn't remember much. She's erased and re-written. Making herself the author, and him the novel. She may type out a sentence, a birth year, maybe, or a childhood friend if he's lucky, but if she's grows bored, she may dab a brush into her white out and then it's gone. Who was that young man with the curly blonde hair that lived a few doors down back home- or what she'd told him was back home, in Chicago? Jason, or Jackson, or something with a J, but never mind that now, because apparently they hadn't lived in Chicago after all. It had been Argentina, his name had been Enrique and he hadn't spoken a word of English.

The man himself had gone by many such names. One for every letter of the alphabet, and then some. He didn't know why'd she'd done this, or even how he'd come in contact with her. She'd just always been there and always would be. _Come now, open. _And there he goes again. The briefcase falls to the ground, with a soft _ka-thunk_! He let's his guard weaken. It was nothing for her to control fingertips, it would only take a bit more to grab his subconscious. He knelt to the ground, fiddled with the lock, until it successfully clicked open.

A sigh escapes from his pressed lips. 'Now?' he asks, though he rather her answer be something along the lines of never. _Of course. _He can feel her excitement welling up inside him, as if he were a balloon full of helium. Her adrenaline streaks through his veins, as she begins her single word chant, echoing the four-letter word over and over in his head. Her bloodlust is sickening, his stomach rocks uneasily just at the thought of the interior of the briefcase. _I need to feed, _she hums, and his resolve again is weakening, despite his hardest attempt to fight her control.

Still, this time he has feeling. And there's a rush of cold as his hand grasp around the barrel of the pistol.


	2. Chapter 2

_Schizophrenia, _she'd laughed, the disease rolling from her tongue as if it was nothing more than the punch line to some innocent joke, _Is that what they told you? Oh hun, sorry to disappoint, but I'm no figment of your imagination, I'm real. _Her fingers wrapped web-like around his throat, squeezing until he gasped for breathe, _But let's not tell anyone else, okay? They wouldn't like us hanging out together. _It was a memory he'd been more than surprised she'd let him keep. He knew she was sadistic. Something she'd tried to hide many more times than he could count though he didn't understand why. She was his master, she could behave however she pleased and he'd still respond to her. And yet, she tried. She wiped away moments of her worst. When she shred away at him, when her sanity left her, and something dark consumed whatever was left. She wanted him to see her as a friend, though he considered her anything but.

But that moment, less than two months before back in some suburb he couldn't place. She'd kept. And yet, she'd almost killed him, right there as they stood his hand holding the key inches away from unlocking the door to his apartment. He couldn't remember why she stopped, she just did. But he'd stopped going to therapists and doctors after that. Whatever was going on inside him, attempting to control his thoughts, feelings, and actions, couldn't be stopped. She was her own disease, growing and feeding off his guilt for the actions she alone caused him to do.

And now here he was, about to do yet another.

_Kill_, she taunted, her tongue clucking like a disproving parent, _kill now, hun. Come on sweetheart, I'm starving. _And he feels her beside him. His heart pounds, as his fingertips trace the barrel and then four silver bullets. 'I'll get caught,' he whispers, 'I'll die too.' She's silent for a moment. Part of him wants to look at her face and ask, would you care? Or would you find another host to live off of and torment?

_Don't worry baby, I'm here to protect you. I'm always here for you._

'Then why do you make me do this?' he wonders aloud, fiddling with the bullets, slipping them into the slots one at a time. Time seems to slow as she answers, he watches as other workers hurry down the steps, not bothering to notice the young man fiddling with his briefcase. If only someone would stop, see what he was doing, and tell everyone to run.

_You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours, _she snorts, placing a hand on his shoulder, _and then we're off to a new town. New faces, new names._

'New memories?'

_Always._

He claps his hands around the handle, and pulls it from the briefcase. Slowly he scans the crowd, looking for his first victim. No ones paying him any attention, and why should they? 'Look up,' he whispers, a warning, soft. He doesn't know why he says it; maybe it's his sanity, trying to make one last attempt at redemption.

_Hmm?_

'Nothing. That one, over there.'

A stocky man, ordering a pretzel from one of the many food carts lining the busy streets. His back is turned, he'd never expect it and hopefully it would be death on impact. 'Please don't have a family.'

_He doesn't, look at him. Who'd marry that guy? He's already greying and he can't be much older than thirty, maybe thirty-five and that's pushing it._

And he laughs. Funny, he used to be more nervous before killing. But, he's used to it now, though he still resents doing it. His index slides down to the trigger and quickly he access the area for the following victim. 'Do I get to pick my name this time?'

_Do you ever? _But her attention's somewhere else, as she lowers to the ground, one arm forward, and one leg back, the crouch of a hunter stalking it's prey.

There's the tension as the pistol readies and releases. For a blissful moment, the man take a breathe and then he begins his descend to the ground below. His head hitting the pavement with a sickening crack.

He staggers back, nausea rising in him, but he knows he has to continue, before anyone notices it was him who killed this other man. People are already starting to rush towards the fallen stock, so he aims for his next target and then another and the following.

She knows she's feeding. He can feel her bliss. And the calm that comes after as she's fills up. And then he hears it, her comment and he's so out of it at that moment that he laughs again, because it's so ridiculous.

_I was thinking something along the lines of Edward. _


End file.
